“We are made to persist. That’s how we find out who we are.”
—TOBIAS WOLFF, FROM IN PHARAOH’S ARMY: MEMORIES OF THE LOST WAR
I love the word practice for its versatility. As a verb, it exhorts you to perform an exercise or skill regularly “in order to improve or maintain one’s proficiency,” according to Merriam-Webster. As a noun, it is “the application or use of an idea or method.” To become the writer you hope to be, you must both engage in and sustain a practice. The great artists of the past apprenticed themselves to a master and practiced their art with the main goal of honing their craft. In today’s world, you will benefit from engaging in a similar relationship to your writing. The moment you see it as a “practice” that derives from an authentic place inside you, you step outside the bounds of success and failure and enter a wholly new, deeper territory in which everything you do for and with your writing is part of a greater sum. No words or work are ever wasted. No failure is ultimate; instead everything is another step further on the path of your writing practice.
Nearly a decade ago, in my freelance journalism career, I worked on a story for the Petaluma Magazine interviewing dozens of local visual artists. One woman’s comments have stuck with me across the years: When asked what it took to produce a final painting that satisfied her, her answer was “Miles of canvas.” I could envision those miles, logged at all hours of the day and night; I could picture her body as the engine for her vision, paint splattered across her studio and brow. Often countless “draft” paintings went into the one she finally called complete. It’s much the same for a writer producing drafts of a book or story. Her words encouraged me deeply; they helped me see that everything counts as long as you choose to see it in that light. The value of your writing practice is ultimately up to you. And once you know what that value is, no one can take it from you through rejection, criticism, or competition.
Chapter one encouraged you to love the journey on the way to your destination. Here I’ll teach you the four key steps to building what I call a “Writer’s Code,” which serves as the foundation of your writing practice.
Your writing means a lot to you because of what you bring to it—passion, clarity, joy—and because it will elicit these and other feelings in your audience. Determining the value of your writing to you—why you do it—is the first step in building an unshakable Writer’s Code that you can return to when the doubts come to harangue and hassle you. This is the most personal step of all. Some people in your life may wish that you made a bigger income from your writing (or any income at all), or that you would “make something” of yourself after pursuing a degree, or that your writing gave them something to be proud of. It’s easy to get caught up in thinking about what others want or expect from your writing practice. If your burning reason to write is because it makes you happy or releases the wild voices from your head or helps you analyze the world around you, you are exactly where you are supposed to be. You must learn to please yourself in the process of your practice or you will become vulnerable to discouragement, despair, and giving up. At the end of the day, “writing must be its own reward,” as Anne Lamott famously said.
You may also desire to have an audience, wild success, and fame. As I said earlier, these shouldn’t be the only reasons you write, but they are valuable desires as long as they are rooted to a powerful, authentic place inside you. Desiring fame and fortune for the sake of it often leads to disappointment. But there’s absolutely nothing wrong with wanting your work to be read by a large, accepting public and to entertain, educate, or connect. The more you love the actual work of writing and write what you really love to write, the more likely you are to achieve your writing dreams.
So it’s time to work. Take out your notebook or tablet and get ready to answer a question in each of the following steps, starting with the one below.
WRITE NOW: What is the value of your writing? Refer back to chapter one and your top five reasons to write. For each item on your list, spend a minimum of five minutes journaling, going into greater detail about that reason. Seeing the reasons behind your work can go a long way toward empowering you as a writer.
Once you’re clear on what your writing means to you and why it matters, you will benefit from taking a look at your writing rhythm. I’ve come to believe that every writer has an inner “momentum”—when your creative energy is at its peak—that is most effectively translated at a particular time of day or night, or under certain conditions. Some writers are morning people; others call the midnight hours their most creative time. Some writers need to be in nature, or away from people, or in the center of a bustling environment they can happily tune out, such as a café.
If you have a family, you are often forced to work around spouses and children, and you might also have a full- or part-time job to juggle. You need to know when your creative mind has the most energy—you’ll take this information into account in later chapters as you learn how to manage time and determine when you get the most out of your writing. You will learn to avoid working against yourself or forcing creative time out of yourself when you’re least likely to have the energy.
And even though you won’t always be free to write at your magic hour, knowing when that hour occurs is an important part of your practice. Down the road you’ll learn how to either carve out the time to write when you’re at your best or to build your writing muscles to write whenever you have free time.
WRITE NOW: When are you at your most vigorous and ready to write? What time of day is that? How long do you generally need? When are you at your most spent and tired? What environments best facilitate your creativity? Do you need chaos or isolation? Music or silence? Long stretches of time or quick bursts?
As a writer you may continue on a comfortable and familiar path, taking measured steps toward your goals. It’s perfectly valid and even wise to do so. And yet, as in all things, sometimes risk is required of you in order to grow further or reach a new level of accomplishment or understanding of the craft. But only you know what an acceptable level of risk is for you.
Another way to define risk is as a “next step” in your journey. If your end goal is to be published but you’ve never shown your work to another soul, then a logical next step is to seek out and receive critiques. (There are some wonderful sites for finding critique partners—more on that in chapter sixteen—but if you already have a set of trusted readers in your life, use them.) In your pursuit of feedback, it’s wise to seek it in a way that is likely to be helpful rather than harmful. You might take a course or turn to a trusted colleague whom you know can deliver critique in an honest but supportive way (as opposed to the more “blunt truth” school of feedback, which isn’t for everyone).
If you wish to teach writing or write more academic works, your logical next step might be to pursue a higher degree of education; this step might scare you, but furthering your education is always worth pursuing. Or if you wish to hone your craft, your next step might be to go to a conference, mingle with fellow writers, attend sessions and classes, and sit down in front of agents and editors. It’s important to know where your line is and to not cross your risk threshold if you aren’t ready. A positive risk leads to growth and new opportunities, and should bring a thrill of possibility. When you take a risk you aren’t ready for, you will feel anxious and overwhelmed, and you will set yourself up for discouragement. Sometimes the gleaming promise of reward outshines the cost of the risk, and when that reward doesn’t pay out it can be especially disappointing. If this happens, then the risk probably pushed you past your threshold; it’s a sign that the risk was too far too soon, and that you should turn back, regroup, and attempt a healthier risk—a logical next step that has the ability to stretch you in the right ways.
WRITE NOW: What risks can you take that will allow you to stretch and grow? What is a logical next step for you to take in your writing practice or career? What risks are likely to discourage you and lead to despair? Are any of your “next steps” too ambitious? (Revisit and evaluate your answers once a year. As you continue to take small risks, you’ll find that your answers have changed since the last time you viewed them, and that will give you the confidence to make creative leaps.)
All writers go through difficult times. Painful growth is a real and necessary part of your maturation as a writer, but these challenges are not comfortable and can be downright agonizing. I (and every writer I’ve ever talked with) have experienced deep rejections and setbacks, times when I thought I might never write again, and times when I could only hear “the negative” and not a single compliment. Your goal is to learn to rely on your foundation and to use the tips and strategies outlined in this book to help you through the rough patches on your own if need be. But ultimately even the sturdiest writer needs emotional support and camaraderie. It’s a lonely art, one that most writers do in solitude, with few eyes looking in to see how it’s going. When people do ask about your work, it’s often with well-meaning but unhelpful questions that can cause you to feel like a failure: “What have you published?” or “How many books have you sold?”
What you need is what I call a “Creative Support Team.”
Believe it or not, you may already have a Creative Support Team without realizing it. First, look to your family and friends, the nonwriters in your life. Do you know which ones will cheerlead and champion you when you come to them discouraged? Even the most sympathetic friend, spouse, or parent might unintentionally say an unhelpful thing like “Time will heal all wounds” or “You’ll get over it.” Or worse, “Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.” No matter how much you love these people, they are not the ones you need to turn to when the hard times strike. You need people who will, as I have come to refer to it, “talk you off the ledge.”
My personal ledge is the place where a harsh criticism or a poorly timed rejection can temporarily convince me that I shouldn’t bother pursuing that avenue of publication despite the fact that I have come so close or that I have received as much praise as rejection. There are a handful of trusted comrades I turn to when I reach this place, and no one else. I don’t call my parents. I don’t even call some of my closest friends. I call on the members of my Creative Support Team. For the record, these people don’t know they are a team—many of them don’t even know each other. But they do know me—my writing rhythms and insecurities and tantrums—and they know which words will soothe and bolster me.
I recommend having one nonwriter as part of your Creative Support Team, for those days when you just want someone who loves you to throw her literal or figurative arms around you and rally you toward a better mood. Then, of course, you want at least one writer on your team who knows what it’s like to be in the trenches, an equal who’s trudging the same path you are traveling down in one way or another. And, if possible, it’s nice to have a mentor—someone further down the path than you are or someone who has achieved a writing goal you are interested in achieving, who can remind you that your persistence will pay off.
One of my dear friends, Erika Mailman, author of the novels The Witch’s Trinity and Woman of Ill Fame, has been a constant beacon of support and persistence in my life. Six months after my son was born, when I felt I’d lost my muscle for writing, Erika was the one to tell me that the meager pages I was producing at the time were worth pursuing. She cheered me on and gave me feedback and confidence that I could be both mother and writer, and those rough pages eventually went on to be my first published novel, Forged in Grace. Similarly I try to show the same kind of support to my critique partner, Amy, also one of my closest friends, when discouragement or doubt gets her down. We often share woes over the spin bike at the gym and text each other daily encouragement.
WRITE NOW: Who are the members of your Creative Support Team? Who is your biggest nonwriting champion (or champions)? Who among your writing comrades do you feel safest with? Who are your trusted mentors?
If you don’t currently have a champion, imagine what your “ideal” champion would be like.
After you’ve completed each of the exercises in this chapter, you’ll have a rough draft of your Writer’s Code. Now you can create a visual sheet of your Code that you’ll put somewhere handy (perhaps inside a notebook, over your desk, or in a closet you open daily) so you can return to it again and again. Think of it as a contract with yourself that you will renew every six months. As you commit or recommit to your writing journey, any of these details may change.
[NAME]’S WRITER’S CODE
On this day, [date], I state to myself that I write because [list values—as many as you like].
My best writing rhythms are [at your appointed times of day/night and in your optimal conditions].
I will take the following risks [your goals/risks here], but will never extend beyond my comfort zone.
When I struggle, I will turn to my Creative Support Team: [names].
When you’re done, print it out, put it up where you can see it, and take it seriously.
Almost every chapter in this book has a suggestion for moving your body and keeping yourself healthy and your “vehicle” in excellent shape. My friend Amy, who is both a writer and a yoga instructor, taught me to use “stretch breaks.”
Breaks aren’t just a good idea, they really make a difference; a 2012 Towers Watson global workforce study revealed that people who take breaks from work every ninety minutes were 30 percent more focused. And those who worked beyond forty hours per week and at a more continuous pace felt worse about their jobs, their productivity, and their bodies.
That’s why, when Amy and I are both working, we’ll text each other, “Stretch break!” (We try to arrange these breaks in advance specifically to enlist each other’s support.) When you can, enlist a Creative Support Team member to help remind you.
So here’s a golden rule: Every twenty to ninety minutes during extended periods of sitting, give yourself a stretch break.
Remember that stretches need not be deep. Don’t go past your comfort zone or go too long; as little as ten seconds is enough to be effective.
One of my favorite stretches for writers is to interlace your fingers, then face your palms out and push your arms out as straight as they will go without pain. Try to soften your shoulder blades down and back toward your tailbone and gently pull in your belly toward your spine so you get a nice stretch.